


Women-Loving-Women on Wheels

by Wheely_Jessi



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Disability, F/F, Fluff, Growing Old Together, Happily Married, Holding Hands, Homophobia, Kisses, Marriage Equality, Old Married Couple, Post-Canon, Sassy Patsy, Wheelchairs, nothing too intense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23219857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wheely_Jessi/pseuds/Wheely_Jessi
Summary: Post-canon one shot where Pats and Deels go out to Hyde Park and Patsy puts some bigots in their place.CN - T-rated for subtle but significant homophobia which is swiftly dealt with.
Relationships: Delia Busby & Patsy Mount, Delia Busby/Patsy Mount
Comments: 13
Kudos: 35





	Women-Loving-Women on Wheels

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Habitsandbicycles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Habitsandbicycles/gifts).



> The things self-isolation conjures up...inspired by a conversation with @Habitsandbicycles about whether I've ever deliberately run someone's foot over with my chair. The answer? No, but I've wanted to.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this bit of utter fluff. It really is, I just wanted to be careful with the tags. Stay safe and well, all.

In the late summer of 2017, Patsy and Delia Busby-Mount were walking through Hyde Park, taking an early evening stroll before heading home to their flat in Chelsea for supper and snuggles. Or rather, Delia was walking, and Patsy was sitting in front of her, being pushed in her wheelchair. So perhaps, for the erstwhile redhead at least, their motion was better described as an early evening _roll_. Regardless, they were meandering through (still surprisingly large) throngs of fellow park-goers, and entirely content to get lost in the crowd.

Patsy was, anyway. Her wife, however, had other ideas – suddenly drawing the chair to a halt and shifting her position to be beside her beloved. ‘What are you doing, Deels?’ the elder of the two women asked, the slight wobble in her voice not merely an effect of their advancing years but, as it had ever been, a sign of anxiety.

‘I want to hold your hand, Pats, _cariad_ ,’ her younger lover replied, calmly and with a quirk of her brow. ‘We’d got so brave since our wedding, and I’ve missed it the last few months. I can walk beside you, and use one arm to push, leaving the other free.’

Patsy snorted begrudgingly, but agreed. ‘I can hardly argue with that level of planning, Mrs Busby-Mount,’ she conceded, flashing a grin. ‘I only worry about you putting strain on your wrist, our joints aren’t what they used to be, and I rely quite heavily on your dexterity these days.’

In another era, Delia might have read that as innuendo, but from the sincere tone of her favourite voice, she could tell it was pure practicality. So, not commenting, she leant forward and pressed a kiss to her wife’s silvery scalp. ‘I know you do, _annwyl_ ,’ she answered, relishing the mass of people around them to mask the movement, although it was small. Old habits were hard to break, even in the fiftieth anniversary year of partial decriminalisation. And sometimes they still needed to be cautious – all the more so now evidence of their contact was pronounced by a rather different kind of height discrepancy.

Tonight, apparently, was a “sometimes”. Because, as the former brunette stood upright, she saw another (straight) couple shake their heads, tutting. It was almost enough to prevent her from moving to grasp the hand now being offered eagerly. But, instead, she took it, gave it a squeeze and bent again to press a kiss to her wife’s cheek.

Patsy murmured approvingly, having seen and heard everything too, and said loudly, ‘Anyone would think we were still in the fifties, eh, love?’

Delia could only giggle in surprised joy. ‘You’re brave today,’ she whispered, her accent thick with admiration.

Blue eyes stared into blue eyes as steady Received Pronunciation was whispered in reply. ‘My turn to take on the bigots, Mrs Busby-Mount; you exhausted yourself enough in our youth. With one of those mobility scooters I’d run over their feet, but words will have to do.’


End file.
